As Kausalyā sat overwhelmed by grief, lamenting her son Rāma’s impending exile, Lakṣmaṇa, deeply distressed himself, spoke words meant to console and embolden her. “Noble lady,” he said, “I too find no joy in the thought of Rāghava going to the forest, abandoning his royal destiny, all because of a woman’s words. Our father is old, and his mind has been led astray by desire—what might a king, pressed and agitated, not say under such influence? “I see no fault in Rāma, nor any wrongdoing that could justify banishment to the forest. In all the world, whether friend or foe, who could accuse him of any failing, even in secret? Who, thinking rightly, would abandon a son so godlike, upright, self-controlled, and gentle even to his enemies, without cause? And what son, remembering the conduct of kings, would repay a father who has reverted to childishness with the heart of a ruler? “As long as this matter remains hidden, keep the king’s command within you, together with me. Who could harm you, O Rāghava, while I stand by your side with my bow? None can act against you, just as none can act against Death when it stands near. If Ayodhyā turns hostile, I will empty the city with my arrows. Whoever sides with Bharata or wishes him well, I will slay them all, for the gentle are always despised. “If our father, influenced by Kaikeyī, does not wish us well and has become our enemy, let him be slain without hesitation. Even a teacher who has turned arrogant and strayed from the path must be disciplined. On what strength or reason does he wish to hand over the kingdom’s fortune to Kaikeyī? Having made enmity with you and with me, what power does he have to bestow the kingdom’s riches upon Bharata? “O queen, I swear by truth, by my bow, and by the sacrifices I have offered—I am devoted in heart to my brother. If Rāma must enter blazing fire or the forest, know that I will go before him. With my strength, I will remove your sorrow, as the sun dispels the darkness of dawn. Let the queen see my valor, and Rāghava too. I would not hesitate to slay my aged father, whose mind is now fixed on Kaikeyī, who is pitiable, childish, and condemned by old age.” Hearing these passionate words from the great-souled Lakṣmaṇa, Kausalyā, weeping and overcome with grief, turned to Rāma and spoke, “My son, do not, having heard the unrighteous words spoken by my co-wife, abandon me, tormented as I am by grief, and depart. You are famed as one who knows righteousness and wishes to practice it most faithfully. Therefore, while you remain here, serve me and fulfill the highest duty. “Remember Kāśyapa, who, dwelling obediently in his own house and serving his mother, attained heaven through his great austerity. Just as you honor your father, so too should you honor me. Therefore, I do not permit you—do not go to the forest. For me, separated from you, life and happiness have no value; even eating grass would be preferable if it were with you. If you leave me, consumed by sorrow, I will remain here fasting unto death, for I cannot live without you. “Then, my son, you will incur the infamous hell, as one guilty of unrighteousness, just as the lord of rivers, the ocean, did for the sin of brahminicide.” As Kausalyā, his mother, lamented in this way, Rāma, whose soul was steadfast in righteousness, spoke words in accordance with dharma. “Mother, I do not have the power to transgress my father’s command. I beg you with bowed head—permit me to go to the forest. “A sage, while living in the forest and obeying his father’s order, knowingly committed the unrighteous act of killing a cow, as did the wise Kaṇḍu. In our lineage, Sagara’s sons dug up the earth at their father’s command, causing great destruction. Rāma, son of Jamadagni, even slew his own mother Reṇukā with an axe in the forest, all for the sake of his father’s word. “Many godlike men before me, O noble lady, have carried out their father’s command without hesitation; I too will do what pleases my father. It is not by me alone that obedience to a father is practiced; those I have just mentioned did so as well. I do not seek a new or contrary path of righteousness—this is the course approved by the ancients, and I follow it. Therefore, this must be done by me on earth and in no other way, for by fulfilling the father’s command, no one ever comes to harm.” Having thus spoken to his mother, Rāma then turned to Lakṣmaṇa, addressing him with the warmth and wisdom for which he was known. “Lakṣmaṇa, I know your unsurpassed affection for me, as well as your valor, steadfastness, and your formidable strength. My mother, of pure and auspicious nature, suffers a sorrow beyond compare, not understanding the deeper intent of truth and self-restraint.” Thus, in the palace filled with sorrow and love, Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa, and Kausalyā each poured out their hearts, bound by duty, affection, and the unyielding demands of dharma.